


Together

by sightandsound3733



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 11:56:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4018825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sightandsound3733/pseuds/sightandsound3733
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For churbooseanon and the challenge to start a fic with a first kiss, and let the rest fall into place. She picked the ship, and I hope I did alright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Churbooseanon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Churbooseanon/gifts).



It had been building for a long time.

Through tense missions, often sectioned from the rest of the Alpha squad, sent out for different purposes entirely (usually those of a more “murder intensive” variety), and quiet nights of rest, oddly enough still pretty sectioned off from the squad.

Because they were alone together so often, there were things they learned about each other.

Florida liked to knit. Wyoming liked to watch him weave the yarn and guess what he was making. Florida liked to commandeer the mess kitchens to bake. Wyoming liked to taste the things he created. Florida liked to sing when he cleaned his blades and guns. Wyoming found himself humming along under his breath when he recognized the tune.   
  
There was only so much they could both do in the presence of each other before one of them broke the barrier so they could do things together instead.

Like kissing. That was very much a together activity that they were taking part in as of a few seconds ago.

Wyoming pulls back first, and in the moment he loses contact with Florida, he realizes how close they were (when had he gotten on the floor, kneeling at Florida’s feet, the abandoned ball of yarn tucked under his ankle and making his foot lay at an odd angle), and how he’d allowed his fingers to curl up into Florida’s dark hair. He blinks. Florida’s eyes are still closed for just a moment longer and Wyoming gets to witness when those beautiful blue eyes flutter open.

There is a moment, a single moment where  
  
“I see,” Florida says quietly, voice not a whisper. Just absurdly quiet.   
  
“…Should this be a moment I apologize for?” Wyoming is asking before he can stop himself. He blames it on their closeness.   
  
“Is this something you wish to apologize for?” Florida isn’t smiling. Which is… very unsettling. Wyoming had apparently kissed the smile off Butch Flowers, oh god that was not good.

Wyoming pulls back a bit, letting (making) his fingers slip out of the assassin’s dark hair. He frowns. “I… No,” he says, sitting back on his heels. The yarn is still under him. He’s a bit afraid to get up because of it.   
  
“Well then,” Florida nods, setting down his knitting needles. He’d been holding them the whole time apparently. He starts to wrap the loose yarn around his creation, a half started scarf, white and gold for Maine, to help him “cover those nasty scars, poor thing”. Wyoming is watching him, perched carefully, hesitant, his stomach in knots.   
  
He stops all together for a moment and he is not prepared when Florida looks to him abruptly. After a moment of staring, Wyoming remembers the yarn. He swears he feels his mustache bristle in embarrassment as he moves off the yarn and gets to his feet, averting his gaze.  
  
“Sorry,” He manages, itching to run to his quarters and get as far away from the lounge they’d claimed as their own as fast as he could.   
  
“I thought you didn’t want to apologize,” Florida notes, wrapping up the rest of the yarn and tucking the needles into the top of the ball of it. He tucks the knitting into the bag he’d brought out from his room and gets to his feet.   
  
Wyoming closes his eyes as Florida brushes past him and he curses himself for having ruined it all. No more nights spent watching him cook, no more tastes of sweet batters and fluffy frostings, no more calming clack of knitting needles and holding the soft yarn for him, no more sweet voice filling the air, filling the room, filling all the empty aching part of him…  
  
“Reggie,” Florida’s voice cuts him to attention. He looks toward the door and see’s the man standing in the line of the fluorescent glow of the hallway. It framed him like a halo (though the man was anything but an angel), he was beautiful. “Are you coming?”  
  
“W-what?” Wyoming manages, hands falling to his sides.   
  
There is a pause, and Florida smiles again, one so warm and amused and bright that Wyoming would have clutched his chest if he was one for the dramatics.   
  
“Are you coming?” He asks again, hitching the strip of his knitting bag higher. “I do hope you don’t want that first kiss to be the last.”  
  
It takes those words far longer to process than necessary, and when they do Wyoming is snapping to attention. He moves toward the door with his typical swagger and lets his hand catch on Florida’s as he crosses the threshold of the door.  
  
“Quite right.”  
  
Florida’s chuckle is the chorus to their footsteps as they walk the halls toward their quarters.

Together. 


End file.
